


I Looked Up My Address and it Just Says a Garbage Can

by Your_Bones



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Spectacular Spider-Man (Cartoon), Voltron: Legendary Defender, Young Justice (Cartoon), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Gen, I'm not tagging all of this lmao, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, it's a trainwreck have fun, somno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Bones/pseuds/Your_Bones
Summary: A dumping ground for unedited mini fics (around 700-1,000 words a pop, varies a lot,) based on prompts from my good friend kittenmittens. (Her counterpart, "A Walking Burlap Sack of Turds", is also viewable here on Ao3.) Kind of a grab bag of fandoms and subject matter, but mostly focused on mpreg and other totally self-indulgent junk.Read at your own risk, and don't expect stunning quality for any of these: keep in mind they were all written in about an hour each.





	1. Ganlink, mpreg, fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenmittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/gifts).



> These aren't going to be in any particular order, look to chapter titles to pick and choose the subject matter you wanna see.

Link wakes Ganon up at some unholy hour of the night, tugging on his shoulder and kissing at his neck shamelessly. He doesn’t open his eyes, groaning and curling his hand against Link’s side wearily. 

“Link… go back to sleep…” 

“I sleep all day! C’mon, I’m bored…” Link all but whines the last part-- Goddesses, he’s gotten spoiled. Ganon mutters incoherently as Link kisses his jaw, his hand reluctantly wandering down to stroke at a wide, ample hip. 

“It’s so late…” As if to admit defeat, Ganon picks himself up, groggily nuzzling Link and running a hand through his hair. He… admittedly likes the attention, even if his common sense is begging him to get some rest. 

Greedy and restless as ever, Link tries to hurry things up, squirming against Ganon’s hands and pulling him into a slow, demanding kiss. Ganon laughs and takes hold of Link’s thigh, squeezing until he gets an irritated noise out of the Hylian. It’s hard not to tease him a little-- he’s just so finicky, like he expects Ganon to dote on him through every second of something like this. ...To be fair, Ganon usually does. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Stroking at his belly eagerly, Ganon leans back to admire Link in the strong moonlight. He’s gotten so round that he can barely get up by his own strength anymore, his chest so full that it strains against his silky nightshirt. A few months ago, Ganon could’ve never pictured it, but Link’s turned out to be truly lovely in his current condition. 

“Am not.” Link gives a moody grunt and pushes Ganon’s hand off him, or at least, off his stomach. His modesty is always amusing to Ganon; it makes him wonder what strange ideas Hylians must have about attractiveness! 

“You are. You look so… motherly.” Ganon leans in to kiss him again, but Link shoves him away, his ears flattened against his head like an angry cat. 

“Stop it! I do not!” He’s trying to sit up now, but he’s a little clumsy, shifting his weight on his plush rear until he can prop himself up on his hands.

Now Ganon’s lost. He thought he was complimenting Link! Maybe he just doesn’t understand. “All I was saying,” Ganon starts, calmly, “is that you’re well-suited to this. Fertile! With childbearing hips that most women would--” 

“Okay, no. No.” Link huffs childishly, kicking Ganon away from him completely and hefting himself up off the bed. “I’m not… any of that stuff!” Getting to his feet means stumbling a little under his own weight, but he manages it, glaring straight through Ganon like he just insulted his grandmother.

“I don’t understand! I thought you’d be proud, being one of the most beautiful--”

“Nope. I’m done.” Without any further commentary, Link grabs the woven blankets off the bed and yanks them all loose, wrapping them around himself like a series of cloaks and shawls before storming off into the next room. 

Ganon just gawks at the door, completely stunned. What did he say wrong? Does Link… not want to be strong and resilient to childbirth? Those seem like very useful qualities to Ganon! 

He frowns, trying to come up with something to say, but he’s just fumbling like an idiot in the dark; even when Link comes back to yank a pillow out from under his head and marches back into the study in furious silence.


	2. Link/Humanoid monster, mpreg, noncon

Link can feel the strength leave his body bit by bit; every breath he takes feels like it makes him weaker, and there’s nothing he can do but make this quick. 

He’s fought monsters like this before, the ones with the sleek, foxlike heads and the heavy armor, but the fog in this pit drains the life out of him by the minute. Gripping his sword in both hands, he charges, planning to feign and dart through the doorway. It’s not worth the fight in his condition; as much as he hates it, his best chance is to try and escape. Even that’s no use, though. He’s slow and clumsy, and the monster easily catches up to him. When he tries to circle around the beast, it anticipates him, turning fast to knock him off his feet. 

“Gah! You… dirty cheat!” Link’s hand shakes as he reaches for his dropped sword; his joints throb from the fall, and he knows he won’t get up easy. He feels trapped under the weight of his own stomach.

The creature kneels beside him, sniggering in its creepy, breathy voice. Its claw comes down on his neck menacingly, and a jolt of terror flashes through him as he realizes that he may be totally unable to fight it. There’s a metallic clunk of movement, and he can all but see the sword coming down on him. He closes his eyes and flinches, waiting for the crushing blow. 

But it doesn’t happen. The clunking sound happens again, and when Link looks up, the monster’s removed both its breastplate and its tasset. ...Why? What’s it doing? The heavy gauntlet on his neck shifts to hold him by his shoulder, and he gasps raggedly-- he didn’t even know he was holding his breath. Something’s wrong. His instincts tell him something’s very, very wrong, and there’s nothing he can do to retaliate. 

Grinning darkly, the monster pulls its gloves off one by one, always careful to keep Link physically trapped by its bulk. It grabs his chest crassly, its claws cutting him through the fabric until he yelps in pain, desperately trying to wriggle away from the touch. 

“Stop! W-What’re you doing?!” Link looks the thing right in its slitted, reptilian eyes, his hands clawing and pounding uselessly at its ribs, and it just keeps smiling. There’s a sickening knot in his stomach when the creature starts to pull his trousers down and all of the sudden, he knows exactly what it’s doing. “Stop! Stop it!” 

Licking its teeth like a dog, the monster sits itself down on top of Link’s legs to pin him and uses its talons to rip his tunic from the collar down. His heart throbs painfully as the creature slips free of its own undergarments: he may not have gotten into his situation the traditional way, but he knows what this thing-- this man-- is trying to do. He howls and tries to kick, tries to hold his legs together, and it doesn’t slow anything down. The beast grabs his thigh in one hand, its (his) claws digging into his skin, and it pushes his knees apart roughly so it can line itself up comfortably. 

The slick, broad thing pried between his legs starts pressing against him, and he realizes he’s crying, begging it to stop, it’s too much, he can’t take it. Then the monster jerks its hips and forces inside him, making him cry out in pain, his hands still scrabbling for something to grab or strike. The creature hums happily; it could speak if it wanted, he thinks. At this point, he’s just trying to think about anything but what’s happening right now. 

With one powerful, clawed hand, the beast holds him open, and the other rests flat against his stomach, exploring and testing at it lewdly. He bites his lip and screws his eyes shut, trying and immediately failing to stop himself from sobbing when the creature rolls its hips against him. Its strokes are fast and rough, heedless of his shaking and whining underneath. Link feels like it takes hours for the monster to finish, and he winces at the feeling as it slides out of him casually. 

Motionless on the stone and dirt floor, Link watches the monster pull its armor back on. It seems to lose interest in him, mercifully, only glancing his way once before it disappears into the dark tunnel ahead of them. He’s not trapped anymore, he can get up at any time, but he just… he doesn’t have the strength to pull himself together just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> picture the monster a tad like the darknuts in Wind Waker-- pretty dang furry


	3. Lance/Hunk, size kink/chub kink, fluff

Lance loves this. He always saw himself as the straightest guy he knows-- he’s all about girls, anybody who’s spent more than five minutes with him knows that. But Hunk is… He’s a special exception. That’s the only way he can word it to himself without it sounding pretty darn gay. 

“Are you sure? I mean, I know it’s… kinda… traditional, but…” Hunk was totally cool making out, and coming back to Lance’s room, and even stripping down a bit, but when he’s down to the t-shirt, he starts fidgeting. 

“Buddy, I don’t know how to break this to you, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen.” They had group locker rooms at the garrison, there were no secrets. Well, except for Pidge. Pidge was an enigma that showered at 2 in the morning. 

“Yeah, but not like this!” The big guy holds his shirt down, blushing a bit, and it’s… shit, it’s pretty cute. Okay, so maybe Lance is willing to let this be a little gay. He crawls on his hands and knees to the other side of the bed, leaning against Hunk’s broad shoulder and curling up to him eagerly. “It’s just… I know I’m not… everybody’s type.” 

Lance sighs, resting his head on Hunk’s chest. “Hunk, c’mon...” He literally couldn’t have it more wrong if he tried! It’s like he expects Lance to only be into squid monsters or something. (Nothing against squid monsters, he’s met some pretty cool ones recently, they’re just not his cup of tea.) “You look…” 

Hesitating a second, Lance takes a deep breath before pulling Hunk into a slow, needy kiss. His hands roam around Hunk’s chest and belly eagerly, slipping under his shirt and feeling at him shamelessly. The way his stomach dips down over his hips, the breadth of his ribs, the softness of his skin… It drives Lance crazy! All he wants is to show him. 

Hunk shies back out of the kiss, curling an arm around Lance’s shoulders. “What’re you, uh…” Lance cuts him off by kneading at him shamelessly, nuzzling up against his thick neck and grinning at how he can just drape himself over the big guy’s middle. “K-Kinda weird…”

“Hunk…” Giving him a lazy kiss on the jaw, Lance sighs. “I love this. A-All of this!” He avoids looking Hunk in the eye, squirming a little in frustration. “Hell, you could be bigger and I’d still…” There’s this really weird, uneasy pause; Hunk reaches down and combs his hand through Lance’s hair sheepishly. 

“Still what?” God, he looks so lost. Lance strokes his side in a slow, idle pace. 

“Still be… really, really into this.” Hunk laughs softly as Lance wraps his arms around… as much of him as he can, burying his face in the big guy’s chest. Then, just to break the tension, he more or less blows a raspberry on Hunk’s neck. But Lance is totally serious! Just to make it clear, he gives Hunk’s hand a careful squeeze. 

He’s relieved when he squeezes back, and as a bonus, he’s kinda fascinated with how his whole hand can fit in Hunk’s palm. Lance is gonna make Hunk understand how much he loves this-- all of this.


	4. Izuku/Katsuki, post mpreg, lactation

Izuku really prefers to do this by himself. Sure, it’s sorta uncomfortable, and it’s tricky to get both the babies to eat together, but it’s still easier for him to handle alone on the bed than just… sitting out in the middle of the living room. 

That’s too weird for him! He takes a deep breath, sort of steadying himself, before pulling his shirt off entirely. It’s just easier this way! Mamoru’s still calm, even if he looks crabby, but Kazuki cries like the world is ending the minute he starts to get hungry. Izuku decides to try and placate him first, picking him up off his lap and gingerly holding him to his chest. Kazuki doesn’t waste any time, clamping down as soon as he finds the right spot and starting to drink greedily. It’s a weird feeling, to say the least, but Izuku is glad he’s healthy.

Mamoru’s harder, though. Izuku cradles him carefully in his other arm, holding him up to the left side of his chest and trying to coax him to drink. He just whines and squirms, clearly unhappy, but he doesn’t latch on. After a couple minutes of persuading, constantly adjusting his hold on the little guy and even putting a droplet of milk on his lips, Izuku finally gets him to nurse. Mamoru doesn’t have half the energy or... enthusiasm that Kazuki does, but he does drink, reluctantly, at his own pace. 

Izuku sighs heavily and leans back against the wall behind the bed, relieved. Obviously, he can’t really do much like this, but he prefers to get it over with all at once instead of constantly juggling both of the boys. He closes his eyes wearily, and even with the strange, unpleasant feeling on both sides of his chest, it’s… oddly peaceful. 

It’s peaceful, and both of the babies are happy, and Izuku feels like he can rest. Just for a second. 

That’s when the door slams open. 

“What’s taking so damn long?!” Kachan barges in without warning, leaning over the bed and eyeing Izuku angrily. “How long does it take--” 

Izuku shushes him, glaring up at Kachan and gesturing to the babies with his chin. If they get spooked now, he’ll never get them both to eat! He’ll put up with a lot of crap, he admits that, but he won’t let Kachan upset Mamoru and Kazuki. 

“Okay, okay. Shit. You’re like a fucking mother hen.” Though he acts like it’s a huge chore, Kachan does lower his voice, and he sits down pretty gently by his standards. “Heh, more like a mother cow.” 

“W-What do you want?” Watching Kachan suspiciously, Izuku adjusts his hold on the boys, glancing down every now and then to make sure they’re okay. He’s kinda given up on the notion of having privacy when he does this, thanks to Kachan’s ‘this is my place and I’ll go wherever I fucking want to’ policy, but he’s still not thrilled about the way he’s getting ogled right now. 

“Shit, that rack just keeps getting bigger, no matter how much the brats drink.” Kachan doesn’t even try to downplay the way he leans over Izuku’s chest, leering down at him shamelessly. He slips a hand under Izuku’s arm, feeling crassly at his hip.

Turning red in frustration, Izuku turns his back to Kachan as much as he can, hunching his shoulders defensively. 

“Are you j-just here to… spectate, or what?” Izuku turns his attention back to the twins when one of them squeaks, watching nervously as Kazuki lets go and yawns dramatically. He huddles up to Izuku, his eyes starting to droop shut, and Izuku lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Do this some other time, okay? I-I’m really busy!” Mamoru wriggles moodily, and Izuku freezes for a second to make sure he’s not about to cry. 

“I’m fucking bored. You didn’t say this would take so long.” Kachan curls up against Izuku’s back, pulling him close with the hand that’s now digging into his belly painfully. “Hurry up, will you?!” 

“Shh! I-I can’t, you know that--” Izuku cuts himself off with a high, embarrassing squeak when Kachan grabs a handful his chest. His right side’s not… occupied anymore, that’s true, but it’s still really tender! “Stop! Not i-in front of them!” He’s got Mamoru in one arm and Kazuki sort of curled up in his lap. Does Kachan have any shame? 

Of course he doesn’t. That was kind of a dumb question.

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen! You let those brats suck on your tits every day, why can’t I even touch ‘em?” Kachan makes his point by squeezing Izuku roughly, cupping his breast in his hand and pressing down harshly with his thumb. It’s a very different feeling than just taking care of the boys, much more… intense. Biting his lip, Izuku tries to pry Kachan’s hand away, but it’s too little, too late. 

The right side of his chest sort of… spurts, and just when the shame starts to sink in, Mamoru starts coughing. Izuku shoves Kachan away, more fiercely than usual, and holds Mamoru up to check on him. He coughs and sniffs miserably, a few drops of milk running down his chin. Izuku’s surprised he isn’t crying, and while he clumsily dabs the poor kid’s face dry, he realizes that Kachan’s leaning halfway out of the bed, laughing. 

“Damn, Deku! Guess you gave him too much, huh?” Kachan keeps laughing, pointing at Izuku like a mean-spirited little kid. He doesn’t even stop cackling when Izuku kicks him off the side of the bed. 

“If you do that again, I-I’ll... “ Izuku… can’t really come up with a good threat, but he stands by it! Sure, Mamoru doesn’t seem really upset-- he’s already falling asleep with Kazuki, huddled up against Izuku’s stomach. That said, Izuku still doesn’t like the idea of Kachan harassing him while the twins are here. He’s going to really put his foot down on this! They need some better boundaries! 

...As soon as he stops leaking, he guesses.


	5. Izuku/Katsuki, post mpreg, smut

Kachan’s actually a much better caretaker than Izuku would’ve expected-- he cooks (well, heats things up,) picks up the slack on cleaning, looks after Ei-chan… It would be endearing, if he was taking care of anyone but Izuku! Being useless is such a blow to his pride, he can barely even appreciate all the things Kachan’s been trying to do for him lately. As cruel as it sounds, Izuku almost wishes he was the one taking care of Kachan and not the other way around: just because that would feel more normal to him! 

When he wakes up on the couch, his arms trapped in thick casts and folded tight against his chest, he’s freezing. The heater’s been acting up lately, and when he looks down, he realizes that he’s lost the layers of quilts and blankets that were draped over him when he fell asleep. Groaning in frustration. Izuku decides he can handle this himself, and starts trying to kinda hook the big comforter back up onto the couch with his foot. 

When that doesn’t work (he’s pretty sure he heard his hip pop!), he hesitates before resorting to bending down and gingerly biting down on the edge of a quilt. He can do this! He’s just lifting a blanket, it’s not a triathlon! Taking a deep breath to psyche himself up, Izuku leans back, clumsily pulling the blanket along with him. 

Of course, that’s where Kachan walks in. 

“What the hell are you doing, dumbass?! You’re not supposed to move!” Kachan stomps over to the couch and shoves Izuku down on his back, as gently as he can manage.

“I-I was just, uh… just getting kinda cold, so…” Izuku blushes deeply, hanging his head. He’s not really ashamed that he got caught, he’s just ashamed that he was struggling with two pounds of fabric in the first place. ...Well, no, it’s a little bit of both. Being seen like this doesn’t really make him feel great about himself, either. 

“Idiot! That’s what you call me for!” Kachan huffs, piling the comforter back onto Izuku’s middle haphazardly. “You keep doing this shit and you’re gonna fuck up your arms worse than ever! Then you’d be no good to anyone!” 

Those words cut deep for Izuku, mostly because he knows they’re true. If he did any more serious damage to his arms, his career as a hero could be over. Hell, if he lets it get too bad, there’s a chance he might end up permanently disabled! The thought of that, and the realization of just how close he came to it, eats at him painfully. Before he even realizes it, he’s already started crying, his self-control dampened by frustration and painkillers. 

“For fuck’s sake-- what’s it gonna take to make you shut up and stay put, huh?” Bending down over the couch, Kachan wipes at Izuku’s tears roughly, sort of like he’s brushing leaves off a sign rather than touching somebody’s face. “You want me to bend over backwards, you little shit?” 

“N-No…” Izuku tries to hold himself back, to swallow his feelings and put on a brave face, but that just makes him cry harder. He sobs weakly, miserably trying to dry his cheek with his shoulder. 

“Okay, fuck it.” With an irritable grunt, Kachan yanks the blankets off and throws them aside, clambering onto the couch near Izuku’s feet. 

“Wait, w-wait, I don’t--” Too late. Even though Izuku knows exactly where this is going, there’s nothing he can do to stop it! He whines uneasily when, sure enough, he feels Kachan start to pull on the hem of his pants. 

“Shut. Up.” Kachan kneels, planting a few quick, clumsy kisses on Izuku’s belly and hip. 

In what feels like a weird blur of grabbing and pawing and nipping, Kachan works his way downwards urgently. He cups the undersides of Izuku’s knees and lifts, coaxing him to rest his legs up on top of Kachan’s shoulders. Izuku whimpers, his heart giving a nervous little squeeze at the feeling of being spread out and helpless like this, but he doesn’t have time to focus on his misgivings before he feels Kachan’s teeth sink into the inside of his thigh.

Since he can’t cover his mouth, Izuku’s forced to bite his lip to keep himself quiet, screwing his eyes shut and wriggling sluggishly on his back. He can’t really see what Kachan’s doing between his legs, but he can feel the familiar crude sucking at his thin skin. Then, Kachan abruptly lets go with his teeth, shifting a little so he can drag his tongue aggressively over Izuku’s entrance. 

Izuku squeaks, trying to squeeze his knees together, but Kachan doesn’t budge. He laps at Izuku greedily, pressing a fingertip inside him to try and push him along. It’s almost too much for Izuku to take-- he forgot how long it’s been since he did this kind of thing! Kachan’s relentless, licking and thrusting a little with his fingers harshly. Finally, he sucks at just the right spot, and Izuku’s falling apart, panting and going limp against his hold. 

Kachan squirms out from under his thighs, wiping his face crassly and muttering. “There. Now will you go the fuck to sleep?” 

Still catching his breath, Izuku nods dumbly. He has to admit, he definitely feels… better. Even Kachan’s insistence that Izuku can “pay him back later” doesn’t do anything to dampen his bleary, drowsy sense of total contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this saved in my googledocs as "oh no I broke both my arms and am also horny"


	6. Lance/Hunk, pining, humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Takes place in an AU where Lance's time on the ice planet turned him into a mermaid-type creature. He's still pretty much the same guy, only gorgeous and scaly and oblivious to how sweet his rack is.)

The pool’s not really big enough for two people-- at least, not the way Lance swims. He’s so fast, and his tail’s really long, and Hunk knows from experience that he’s not crazy about other people touching it. But it’s okay! Hunk’s pretty okay with just watching sometimes. Especially times like this, when Lance is… 

Well, there’s a scientific explanation for it! He has to keep his skin hydrated, and to do that, he has to have as much surface area exposed as possible. Hunk was never really a biology guy, but it’s pretty interesting. 

Ever since Lance changed, he’s sorta been turning into a biology guy. 

Sitting on a low metal bench, Hunk watches absentmindedly while Lance takes quick, agile laps around the pool. From this angle, it’s so easy to see right down the low collar of his tight swimsuit. Not that Hunk would look that close, of course, but that top is definitely a little too small for Lance. 

His chest strains against the thin fabric, and sometimes, when he picks up speed, the collar gets pulled down by the water resistance. Lance doesn’t seem to notice. It’d be mean to tell him, right? He’s already so sensitive about all this. And if he knew he’d been sorta flashing people for a while now… it’d really freak him out! Hunk swallows nervously, caught up in the way that the top of Lance’s tail gives him a really nice hourglass shape, and tells himself not to worry too much. All he has to do is hang out here, support his friend, and maybe say hi to Keith when he comes down. 

Wait, what?! When did Keith get here? Hunk shakes his head, snapping himself out of whatever absentminded state he was in and blinking up at Keith helplessly. What is he doing? He acts like he’s swimming laps, sure, but something about this just rubs Hunk the wrong way. 

Getting along was never easy for Lance and Keith, after all. What if Keith says something and gets the poor guy all worked up again? It took a lot of convincing just to get him to be okay with being seen like this. Hunk stands by the ladder uneasily, resting his hand on a metal rung and watching intently. 

“Hey, I always heard it’s healthy competition.” Lance comes to the edge to rest with his arms on the rim of the pool, but it’s more like he’s trying to keep himself from falling out than actually catching his breath. He gives a mischievous flick of his tail as he looks back at Keith, his chest sorta squished against the tops of his folded arms when he leans forward.

“It wouldn’t be a competition, though! You have a freaking tail!” Keith… takes longer to complain than Hunk would’ve expected of him. Though he’s clearly trying to keep a straight face, his eyes keep wandering in the same direction over and over, and he’s sorta shying away from Lance. 

Lance makes loud, childish chicken noises for a minute, and Hunk would love to enjoy that with him, he really would, but he’s too distracted now. He knows exactly what Keith’s staring at, and it just… it really bugs him! 

Furrowing his brow, he climbs the ladder, just enough to get close to the water, and calls out, “hey, Lance! Maybe we should get going.” 

“How come? I was just about to kick Keith’s ass!” Lance strikes a goofy pose, like an Olympic swimmer, and… doesn’t seem to realize when the worst finally happens. That swimsuit gives out on him, and he’s sorta popped out underneath it, the cloth riding up higher on his chest to make room. Both breasts are out, highlighted by the stretchy swimsuit digging in just under his collarbone, and he’s even got the distinctive tan line of somebody who spends a lot of time in what’s basically a bikini. There’s a moment of pure horror, where Hunk and Keith make eye contact, both realizing that the other one’s seen this, and they simultaneously freeze there. “Uh, guys?” 

“Y-Yeah, we should go.” Hunk reaches out, offering to help Lance out of the water, but his eyes don’t really move. They stay fixed on pretty much the same… couple of things, and when Lance catches on and looks down, he makes a noise that has all three of them wishing they were never born. 

“Shit! Would you stop looking?! I-I mean--” Lance hurriedly covers his chest with both arms, but even when Hunk hands him a towel to cover up, the damage is pretty much done. He helps Lance down, letting go of him as soon as he’s back on the real ground and getting a little stab of guilt when he notices the poor guy wrapping himself up as tight as he can.

The worst part is, he’s got no evidence about all this. By the time Hunk has the mind to look for him again, Keith is long gone.


	7. Izuku/Katsuki, post mpreg, description heavy

It’s a pretty normal morning at first. Izuku got up, got showered, made sure Shin-chan ate breakfast and got him dressed. They walked to preschool together, and Shin-chan put on his bravest face to keep from crying when Izuku had to leave. Same as any morning. 

After taking Shin-chan to school, Izuku makes his way back to the apartment, yawning as he turns the key and steps inside. There’s so much to do, especially on these rare lulls in villain activity, that he has to run through checklists in his head. He’s got to work on the damage to Kachan’s costume, and then he’ll probably go shopping once the morning crowds are gone, and then… 

“Oh, hey! Mom, when did you…” Izuku freezes, completely stunned when it hits him. Nobody’s standing in the living room. All he’s seeing is his own reflection in a mirrored cabinet door. He swallows, padding up to the mirror sheepishly, curling his hands into nervous fists and letting his shoulder bag drop to the ground. 

It’s like something flipped a switch in his brain. Sure, he knew he was getting… a little out of shape, and he always did favor mom’s side of the family, but this is too much! He didn’t even recognize himself for a minute! Mesmerized, he gingerly runs a hand over his middle, like he’s trying to confirm that yes, that’s him. 

Raking a hand through his hair, he sort of surprises himself with how long it’s gotten. He’s been so busy, he didn’t even notice: he thought it was just kinda overgrown. But now, it’s gotten nearly as long as Aizawa’s, only Izuku’s nowhere near pale or… lean enough to be mistaken for him. 

None of dad’s features really seem to favor him anymore. Dad has that sharp jaw, and the scraggly look of a guy who needs to shave every few hours just to look neat. But Izuku’s face stayed round, and he’s still got freckles, and he’d probably only come up to dad’s shoulder if they stood side-by-side. 

The worst part is his overall shape, though. Izuku turns, trying to convince himself it’s not that bad, but his belly stands out even more in profile than from the front. He blushes, a little jolt of shame hitting him when he notices how it kind of laps over the waistband of his pants. Higher up… he doesn’t even want to think about higher up.

He’s got this sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes that he looks exactly like his mom did when he was younger. They could be siblings. They could almost be twins! Izuku sniffs, stepping away from the mirror when he just can’t take any more of it. It’s not just looking like his mom-- lots of people resemble their parents, after all-- and it’s not just putting on weight, either. It’s kind of this weird, overwhelming combination of things that makes him look… not just like his mom, specifically, but like a mom. 

Izuku groans and sits down on the couch, pausing to process all this. He feels so defeated, even though he didn’t even know it was a problem when he got up today. When Kachan barges in from the shower, Izuku glances up at him, giving him a weary, helpless look. 

“Kachan… I don’t look like… You know, like a mom, right?” He’s not even sure what ‘looking like a mom’ means, exactly. Something along the lines of a rounder, middle-aged woman, he guesses. 

“The fuck are you talking about?” Kachan stretches, toweling off his hair and feigning like he’s just barely listening to Izuku. “You plopped out a kid, didn’t you?” 

...He always knows just what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one technically has 3 parts; I might post the other ones, not sure yet


	8. YJ Wally, mpreg, solo

Wally’s double-checked the lock, he’s made sure most of the team is busy, he’s jammed a towel under the crack in the door to muffle any sound. He did not go to all this effort for nothing! Nothing, not even his weird, out of shape body, is gonna stop him now!

His panting turns into a whiny huff as he rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his knees and elbows in the middle of the bed. 

This is ridiculous! A guy’s gotta be able to have some personal time, that’s basically a human right. Everybody has to blow off some steam, and at this point, Wally needs it worse than he thinks he has in his whole life. So why does it have to be so hard?! He can barely breathe when he lies on his back, and he can’t really reach over the bulk of his own stomach when he tries this sitting up. It’s like wearing a chastity belt, only it also weighs fifty pounds and makes his knees hurt when he tries to walk too fast. The frustration is killing him! He has to do something to get his rocks off, or he’s gonna explode! 

Gritting his teeth, Wally runs his hand experimentally over the side of his heavy belly, trying to see if this pose will work before he gets his hopes up. It feels like he was his normal, ripped self just a few days ago, and now, he wouldn’t even recognize himself from the neck down. But maybe, if he can just wedge his hand between his gut and his thigh, he could get at the right angle to...

He shivers suddenly when his hand comes to rest in just the right spot, a few inches away from his navel, where the skin’s pushed out by the mass underneath and starting to get sore. Wally shifts his hips a little, stroking at his belly curiously and giving a soft groan when it… starts to feel kinda good. The side of his stomach is tight like a drum, but apparently, getting stretched thin there makes him almost disturbingly sensitive. He lets his whole upper half slide down on the mattress, arching his back until his butt’s above his shoulders and his chest grinds against the bedsheets every time he inhales. 

...That’s starting to feel pretty good, too. Wally’s not proud of himself-- he’d much rather be the handsome stud admiring the posters on his ceiling and panting like he’s in a triathlon, make no mistake-- but he’s willing to go along with anything that pushes his buttons right now. Finish first, feel gross about it later. He buries his face in the sheets self-consciously, hitching his hips as he takes the only hand not supporting his weight and paws at his own chest clumsily. It hurts, aching from deep down like a bruise, but the pressure sends a dizzying jolt of sensation through him that makes him moan for real, low and filthy. 

He doesn’t even hear the door click open. 

Or, more accurately, snap. Conner’s standing on the other side of the room, gawking like an idiot with the broken doorknob still in his hand. Wally glances up from studying himself and spots him, making eye contact that’s somehow both horrifying and weirdly, intensely exciting. 

“I, uh… I’ll go.” The big guy takes a step back instead of turning around, almost like he can’t make himself look away. His face is bright red-- who knew Kryptonians had red blood, too-- and he keeps his eyes fixed on Wally, sorta paralyzed there in the doorframe. 

This is bad, Wally knows it’s bad, but Conner’s hesitation is the only red flag he needs to give him the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might be kinda into it, too. What?! Why does Wally want him to be into it? He likes girls, he’s made it pretty clear how great he is at liking girls, and he’s not gonna change that just because Conner’s down to that clingy black wifebeater he wears when he’s been training. 

Crap. Wally crossed out of straight thoughts territory a while ago, didn’t he?

Swallowing dryly, Wally drops down onto his side, mostly because his elbow’s killing him from holding up his weight this whole time. He’s naked, breathing hard and spread out French girl style for Conner to see, and man, does he have a serious problem with caring all of the sudden. If he’s already humiliated, he might as well go for the gold, right? What does he have to lose? More importantly, look at what he has to gain!

“Well, I mean… Nobody’s making you.”


	9. YJ Wally/Artemis, mpreg, femdom, domestic

“Hang on, buddy. It’ll be ready in a minute.” Wally has to lean down at a weird angle to reach, resting his hand on the top of Bart’s head to stop him from bouncing. Er, vibrating. Artemis just got in, but she doesn’t make herself known right away. Sometimes she can’t resist watching the boys for a second, especially when they’re being all sweet and cozy like this. 

“Mom, mom, mom, hey, mom.” Bart’s trying to see what he’s doing, clinging to his oversized t-shirt and drumming on his leg excitably. Eventually, Wally caves in and sets the spoon aside, crouching down laboriously slow and holding his belly in one hand. He picks the kid up under his arm, hangs onto the counter to pull himself back up, and adjusts so he’s holding Bart casually under one arm. (He doesn’t like to talk about it, but Wally’s gotten really good at balancing things on his hip.) 

“See? It’s still spaghetti. Hasn’t turned into anything else yet, but you can keep an eye on it, okay?” It’s easier for Wally to tote Bart around than it is to constantly get up and down with his demands. 

Artemis keeps telling him the little guy’s getting spoiled. She pads over to Wally quietly, sneaking up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. It feels like her hands just barely reach across the expanse of his stomach at this point, even when she pulls him close and fits his back up against her.

“Oh, hey. You’re back early.” He’s gotten really good at keeping track-- how long Artemis’ missions usually take, when to expect her to get home, that sort of thing. If she’s more than an hour or two late, he calls, and it’s always the ‘I’m not worried or anything, just checking in, you know, killing time’ kind of call that’s so transparently worried that it kinda breaks her heart a little.

“Yeah. Turns out it was just Captain Cold, that guy’s a cupcake.” Artemis grins and squeezes Wally lightly, waiting for his usual barrage of questions. He watches the news coverage of these things, but he knows better than anybody how limited that information is, and he likes to hear the whole story. 

Except, this time, he’s oddly quiet. Just a moody ‘okay’ and then he’s back to focusing on dinner. (Between him and the baby and Bart, Wally goes through enough food that he had no choice but to get good at cooking.)

Her voice restrained and nervous, she asks, “something wrong?” Frowning, Artemis lets him wriggle away. She doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but Wally is getting pretty big, and it’s hard not to worry when the poor guy struggles just to get up from the couch. 

“I just…” Wally hesitates, running his hand through Bart’s hair thoughtfully like he’s trying to watch what he says. Bart, to his credit, doesn’t seem really phased-- he’s been talking literally nonstop for the last few minutes about a dinosaur toy he found under his bed today. “I’m getting kinda stir-crazy here, you know? You going to work, doing all this cool stuff, and then coming back and telling me about it… talk about rubbing salt in the wound!” 

“I mean, you’re not exactly in fighting shape right now…” Artemis shrugs, glancing down at the way Wally’s still supporting his belly with one hand. He makes a face, setting Bart down clumsily and letting the kid hit the ground running, zooming off like a wind-up toy. “You can get back at it as soon as you recover, right? Nobody’s making you stick with the whole housewife thi--” 

“I told you not to call it that!” Wally folds his arms over his chest, and he’s… well, he doesn’t like to call it ‘pouting’ either, but that’s definitely what he’s doing. 

Artemis knows she’s on thin ice here. She takes a deep breath, weighing her options carefully, trying to take the high road. 

“And I told you, I mean it in a good way. A cute way, you know, like--” And he’s out. He’s waddling back to the bedroom with all the dignity and cold fury he can possibly muster. Well, sometimes you take the long shot and nail it, sometimes you can’t hit the broad side of a barn. 

...She’s gonna have to do something pretty spectacular to win Wally back this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, their kiddo is a speedster named Bart-- let's just call it an AU with some tweaks to the timeline and leave it at that


	10. YJ Wally/Artemis, mpreg, femdom, slight h/c

“Hold on, babe, I’ve got it.” Artemis groans, but she knows better than to try and stop Wally. He’s too stubborn, he’s just gonna keep trying to do the famous Flash sprint until he runs himself ragged. This is attempt number… five? She thinks? She’s not sure if the last one even counted, to be honest. 

Carefully squeezing his shoulder, she sighs, “don’t push yourself, okay?” Wally already seems kinda out of breath, and he’s just been making dashes across the apartment. It’s obvious what he’s trying to do: he wants to knock books off the shelves, send papers flying, all the stuff he’s used to doing when he runs. 

Artemis just doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not happening this time. 

“Just one more try.” He said that the last two or three tries, she thinks. Reluctantly letting go of his arm, Artemis watches Wally take a step back, square his shoulders, bend his knees as far as he can. It kinda looks like he’s trying to lay an egg or something. After he touches his hand to the ground-- just barely able to reach over his stomach, of course-- Wally seems satisfied. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and bolts. 

...Well, he tries, anyway. It’s this ridiculous, uncoordinated scramble, his whole body struggling to reconcile his brain’s directions with his messed up sense of weight and balance. The poor guy’s forced to ‘run’ kind of hunched over, holding his gut, stumbling forward as fast as he can; he doesn’t even make it to his old jogging pace before he trips over himself and winds up on his knees. It’s so pitiful, Artemis almost feels bad for not stopping him. He wouldn’t rest until he knew for sure, she doesn’t doubt that, but this just got way too hard to watch. 

“Damn it!” Wally pounds his fist on the ground childishly as Artemis kneels to help him up. She loops an arm around his back, supporting him as much as he’ll let her. Artemis hisses sympathetically when they stand and his legs immediately start shaking. 

“I’m sorry, Wally.” Ugh, she’s bad at this. Why is she still bad at this stuff? “...I know how much it means to you.” Pulling more of his weight onto her shoulders, Artemis walks Wally to bed and helps him down. 

“No, you know what? I’ve just gotta get used to it.” Groaning loudly, Wally flops over on his side, his breathing still rough and unsteady from the effort of ‘running’. “I’m slow now, babe. You started dating the second fastest man alive, and now I’m getting cut off by snails on the sidewalk.” 

“Wally, it’s not imp…” Well, she can’t say ‘it’s not important’, because obviously, it is to Wally. Artemis sits beside him, resting her hand on his side, just above the heavy curve of his stomach. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” 

“I’m not! I’m being realistic-- look at me!” Wally rolls over onto his back for emphasis, but the weight of his belly makes it uncomfortable, forcing him to switch back pretty fast. “I look like one of those giant elephant seals on the nature channel! So much for Kid Flash!” He makes a horrible little noise, like a half-sob, half angry scoff, and drapes his arm over his face. “Good thing I’m retired. I knocked off just in time, right before I started being useless to everyone.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” Sure, he’s being sort of dramatic, but it comes from a place of genuine sadness. Artemis lies down and curls up next to Wally, pulling his hand off his head to give it a careful squeeze. “Come here.” 

“Babe, not now…” He doesn’t really stop Artemis from pulling him to her chest, even though he makes another miserable sound when she moves him. 

“Yeah, now.” She fits his head up under her chin, then drapes an arm over his side to rub lazily at his stomach. Wally whines softly, but lets her stroke the sore spot right above his hip, her fingers tracing the lines of stretch marks that peer out under his shirt. “Remember a couple years ago, when I tripped on the steps and broke my thumb?” 

Wally hums a noncommittal ‘yes’ noise.

“I freaked out so bad, because I thought I’d never hold a bow right again.” Artemis decides to lay it on thick, pressing a gentle kiss to Wally’s forehead. This time, he doesn’t complain about her doting on him. “I was retired! I had no business with large game weapons. But it still really messed me up.” 

“...You broke your finger, too.” Huddling up to her skittishly, Wally sniffs. “It was just a crack, but then you had to be all ‘no, I can change my grip, I can still pull the string back, just watch’.” Somehow, Artemis can hear him smiling a little when he says that. 

“Yeah. It’s the same thing that’s happening to you now.” The way Wally curls his arm around Artemis’ waist, almost clinging to her, is simultaneously incredibly sweet and also sort of heartbreaking. “And I have to tell you what you told me.” 

“...I guess.” 

“You’re not just a hero, Wally.” Artemis pulls away slightly, cupping his face for added emphasis. “You’re a lot of other things. You’re my boyfriend! You’re part of a family! And you’re gonna be a great m…” Clearing her throat, Artemis corrects herself. “Parent.” 

“...Nice save.” Wally laughs softly, nuzzling up against Artemis’ chest. She runs her hand through his hair, deciding right now that they’re going to stay like this as long as he needs to.


	11. YJ Wally/Conner, mpreg

“I-I think it’s this way!” Wally grabs Conner by the arm, trying to pull him along through the dark server room. But when the big guy stops, Wally’s basically left tugging on a brick wall and hoping it’ll budge. 

“No. The genomorphs are saying we have to find the western door.” Right. Conner and his spooky telepathic connections. He hasn’t been wrong so far, so Wally sticks close to him, letting him lead the way. It’s frustrating how equipped Conner is for this situation; he sees in the dark, he knows the facility, and none of the mechanical locks can stop him. Wally’s totally useless by comparison! 

Every now and then, Conner has to stop and wait for Wally to catch up. Not that it bothers him or anything. It’s not Conner’s fault he’s like this, but Wally’s been getting weaker and weaker ever since he woke up here. Not only has his power been stifled somehow, probably by the injections, but he’s got what feels like the weight of a bowling ball in his gut on top of that. He’s slow and awkward, his balance is bad, it’s just embarrassing to be seen like this, much less to try and pull off a daring escape. 

He takes a few clumsy, half-jogging steps to keep up with Conner, but a flickering computer terminal catches his eye. Wally would’ve gone right past it-- and he almost does, until he notices the face in the corner of the screen. It’s him. A mugshot-esque photo of him, a little younger and thinner looking, but definitely Wally West. He freezes, stumbling up to the computer to get a look. 

“What’re you doing? We have to go!” Conner glances around nervously, then doubles back to meet him. 

“Hold on.” This is important, Wally has to see this. He starts scrolling through the file, his eyes flicking from one paragraph to another, and his stomach drops in horror as he starts to piece together the whole story. 

Wally West was captured and put into suspended animation by Cadmus on September 8th. (Wally has no idea what today’s date is-- last he heard from Conner’s buddies, it was sometime in February.) The record shows that Wally was cloned multiple times, but only a couple resulting clones were viable. From those two, one didn’t survive the experiments conducted on him, and the other one is labelled “W-17”. Wally feels like vomiting when he recognizes that number: he runs over it again and again in his mind, he tries to find some other explanation, but there’s no denying it. 

“W-17” is his old cell number. It’s the same as the tattoo on the left side of his collar. As far as Cadmus is concerned, Wally is “W-17”. 

His legs tremble dangerously under his own weight, and he clamps his hand over his mouth, struggling to keep himself quiet. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong with you?” Conner grabs Wally’s arm, trying to pull him away from the terminal, but there isn’t any strength behind his grasp. The guy who can rip metal sheeting in half like paper never seems to force Wally to do anything. 

“I’m… I-I’m a clone.” Wally’s voice is soft and flat, emotionless. It’s just… not really sinking in for him. He’s a clone. All his memories, everything he knows about himself, it’s all just copied from somebody else! They must’ve planted things in his mind, the same way they did with Conner. Wally’s parents, his friends, his time with uncle Barry… none of it’s real! None of it actually happened to him! 

“...I didn’t know,” Conner mutters. He tugs on Wally’s shoulder carefully, trying to coax him to move. 

“I just… None of it’s real. My whole life. It’s not…” Wally crumples to his knees, totally shellshocked. Part of him knows this isn’t important now, that they need to get moving before security finds them, but he can’t make his body respond. It feels like he just got hit by a car, and he’s still trying to piece together what happened. 

“Wally, we don’t have time for this! We have to go.” Conner shakes him lightly, trying to snap him out of it. He’s a good guy, sticking with Wally instead of trying to escape on his own. But Wally still can’t bring himself to move. He’s going to get them both caught, it’ll be all his fault, and he just can’t seem to get it together enough to care right this second. Wally makes a miserable little noise, dropping his face into his hands and hunching his shoulders defensively. 

Suddenly, the whole room spins, and Wally’s legs are lifted out from under him. He yelps, throwing his arms out to brace himself, but then it hits him. Conner picked him up. Conner’s carrying him. Wally probably should be bothered by this, or at least embarrassed, but… Honestly? It’s kind of a relief. He can’t focus on the world-breaking information he just read and their escape attempt at the same time, at least, not right this second. At least Conner has the sense to keep going. 

That’s one thing Wally has that he knows is his. The thing he knows is from his memory, and not taken from somebody else’s. Conner is somebody only this version of Wally knows, and somehow, that thought does make him feel a tiny, incremental bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I even need to say "AU" at this point?


	12. YJ Wally/Artemis, mpreg, somno, femdom, sliiiiight dubcon

Artemis was just coming to tuck him in. Really! Wally rolls and kicks like a puppy in his sleep, he always ends up above the blankets-- Artemis was afraid he’d catch cold. They’ve got to do everything they can to watch his health right now, whether he likes it or not. Artemis shuts the door behind her so the light doesn’t bother Wally, pausing at the foot of the bed. It’s just, seeing him like this, he looks… 

Well, “angelic” might be a bit much, but it’s pretty close! She feels a little creepy, but she just watches the big guy sleep for a minute, soaking in the scene while she can. He’s propped up on the pillows awkwardly, one hand resting on his massive belly and his . His threadbare cotton shirt hangs down past his collar bone, showing off a nice stretch of cleavage. (Wally insists it’s not that big a deal, that he doesn’t really have ‘a rack’, but it’s hard to deny when he’s got it hanging out like that!) 

“Wally?” Yeah, he’s out cold. Normally by this point, he’d be drooling and snoring, but it seems like he was just so spent that he just crashed completely this time. Artemis takes a step closer, putting one knee up on the bed to see if her weight disturbs him. He’s dead to the world, his only response to Artemis crawling in bed with him a slight flutter of his eyelashes. 

She should just curl up and go to sleep, too. Dick has her on point tomorrow, it’s going to be a nightmare. But Wally shifts just the right way, and his shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of his bare belly, and it just… it gets to Artemis! Worse than she can say! She swallows nervously, like she knows she’s gonna get caught, and reaches out to slip her hand underneath Wally’s, cupping the dramatic curve of his stomach. 

Inching up beside Wally carefully, Artemis keeps stroking him in slow, loving circles. He makes a face for a second, but doesn’t move-- Artemis sort of wishes he would, because that drowsy acceptance just makes her feel even bolder. She peels his shirt up lazily, pulling it past his chest until he’s basically naked from the waist up. Naturally, she has to spend a second enjoying the view. She’s only human! And Wally is adorable like this. He’s really filled out in the last couple of months; Artemis is still fighting to convince him to get his own ‘support’ instead of trying to cram himself into her old sports bras. But right now, it feels like a crime to keep that under wraps. 

Artemis bends down, kissing Wally’s neck playfully to make sure he’s still out before she starts wandering lower. Her hand still flat against his tight, heavy middle, Artemis can’t hold herself back anymore. She wraps her lips around a soft, pink nipple, humming happily to herself as she starts to suck. That does get a reaction out of Wally: he squirms, giving the faintest, cutest little moaning noise, and then… 

Moving slow and dumb, he lifts his hand just enough to tangle clumsily in Artemis’ hair. For a second, she’s sure he’s awake, but he doesn’t say anything if he is. He just… tries to hold her there, giving a pitifully weak hitch of his hips as Artemis keeps working at his overfull breast. There’s the slightest hint of sweetness, and when she’s satisfied with that side, she leans over him to start lapping at the other nipple.

“Nng… Babe…” Wally still doesn’t open his eyes all the way, just pumps his hips again needily. His voice is timid and whiny, his free hand curling against the blankets pitifully. God, Artemis loves him. 

“You’re so spoiled.” She nuzzles at his chest, letting her hand wander down the steep curve of his stomach and slowly pry past his waistband. It’s impossible not to tease Wally a tiny bit-- Artemis can’t get enough of hearing him beg. 

“Baby, c’mon… you’re killing me!” He squeaks as she slips a finger inside him without warning, fitting her hand against him gently and letting him rut up against her fingers however he wants. Listening to his whimpering, she has to sit up and watch the display from a better viewpoint; Wally lazily bucking into her hand, his chest bouncing slightly with every move, his face red and damp with sweat. It only takes him a minute to finish, like it always does lately, and he slumps back against the pillows. 

The poor thing’s winded, just from that amount of effort, and Artemis humors him a bit. She brushes his hair back, smiling down at him-- she’s shooting for ‘proud and reassuring’, but she gets the feeling it’s probably more of a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk.

“...Could’ve at least given me a heads-up.” Wally acts like he’s trying to pout, but that’s not working out very well, either. Artemis just cups his cheek, giving him a quick, slightly condescending kiss. 

“Heads-up: I’m gonna be here all night.”


	13. Izuku/Endeavor, noncon

Izuku feels uneasy about this whole situation. The message he got from Endeavor was very short: it just said that he wanted to discuss Todoroki’s quirk and his hero career. All Izuku can think of is that Endeavor has some theory about him and All Might, and he thinks that plays into whatever he’s trying to force Todoroki into. As bizarre as this all is, Izuku wants to stand up for Todoroki however he can. Even though he doubts Endeavor will listen to him, he realizes that this is an opportunity he can’t afford to miss. 

Standing up as tall as he can, he knocks on the door and waits to be let in. It seems strange, meeting a professional at a private address, but he knows it’s not uncommon for big-league heroes to have houses and apartments scattered all over the country. The Todoroki family owns this entire building, right in the middle of Tokyo. Izuku has to stifle his anxiety as he steps inside, his instincts howling at him that something’s off. 

“Midoriya. Come in.” The main room is set up more like an office than a house: it’s luxurious and organized, with the chilly, sterile feel of a place that doesn’t actually see a lot of people. Endeavor sits at a heavy wooden desk in front of the windows, out of costume but still unmistakable. To meet someone he barely knows, alone, without costumes or other fanfare… it’s almost like breaking some kind of unspoken code between heroes. 

Izuku sits down sheepishly, very conscious of how Endeavor insists on staring him down. He’s got that dark, severe look of someone meeting an old rival… or an enemy. It makes Izuku think of one of those cheesy hero dramas, especially when he speaks in that booming, intimidating voice. “I don’t like small talk. Tell me the truth, boy: what is your connection to All Might?” 

Exactly what Izuku expected. That actually puts him at ease: it makes it clear what he needs to say and what he wants to try and accomplish here. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his knees, steeling himself. 

“I don’t have any connection to All Might. We just have similar quirks.” Izuku’s practiced having this conversation, (in front of a mirror, when his mom isn’t home,) because he knows that people are bound to have suspicions. Protecting All Might’s secrets is more important to him than status or reputation, even among legendary heroes like Endeavor. 

“If that’s the case, then why do I have multiple sources telling me you’ve received preferential treatment from All Might at UA?” Endeavor looks straight through Izuku, standing up and approaching him rigidly. 

Izuku shivers: his gut tells him that something’s really, really wrong, and he doesn’t like the way those cold blue eyes roam over him. 

“H-He said… uh… He told me that I reminded him of himself. W-When he was a kid.” He’s already sort of breaking from his plan, talking too much about All Might and not enough about himself, but he’s distracted by Endeavor looming over him. “All Might… W-Wanted to tutor me. B-Because our quirks are so similar.” 

“You’re nothing like All Might.” That does make Izuku look up at him-- he didn’t even realize he was avoiding that. Endeavor puts a hand on the wall behind Izuku, cornering him on the leather seat. “Sitting here shaking like a coward. Barely standing up for yourself. Lying to cover your own tracks.” 

Izuku understands it now. The thing that seemed so wrong about Endeavor’s whole demeanor. When Todoroki told him about Endeavor and All Might, there was always a sense of respect, even if it was angry and bitter. Endeavor knows that he can’t surpass All Might, and he’s aware of his accomplishments. Even when he talks about cutting him down, he does it with the assumption that it won’t be a simple or easy task. 

But when he looks at Izuku, all he can sense is contempt. Disgust. Endeavor still has all that envy and resentment built up, but he doesn’t have the respect of an equal hero along with it. 

Without warning, he shoves Izuku down, grabbing him by the wrist and pinning his arm behind his back. He doesn’t hesitate to put his weight into it, pushing down until he gets a pained yelp from Izuku. 

“W-What’re you doing? Stop!” This is crazy! Even if they’re competitors, they’re on the same side, right? Heroes don’t just… attack each other out of the blue! And Endeavor’s been in the business almost as long as All Might! 

“Be quiet.” Endeavor grabs Izuku’s belt, using it to yank down his uniform slacks. That’s… definitely not what Izuku expected. He flies into a panic, struggling blindly and wondering if he can use his quirk to get away. 

But Endeavor seems to anticipate that idea, the hand on Izuku’s wrist heating up until it starts to burn. “Don’t try it. If you fight me, I won’t hesitate to cook you alive.” As calm and deliberate as ever, Endeavor drags Izuku’s boxers down to his ankles. Izuku glances back at Endeavor helplessly, pleading with him to stop, and he gets the same clinical, almost disinterested stare in response. 

He should come up with a plan, he knows that, he can’t just let this happen. But his mind is racing too fast for him to focus, and every time he tries to calm himself down enough to think of something, something happens to start him panicking all over again. 

Endeavor keeps a tight hold on his now-scalded wrist, his other hand running down Izuku’s side and groping roughly at his exposed rear. Izuku squeaks, burying his face in the couch cushion and trying to convince himself that this isn’t happening. This is… Some kind of crazy nightmare. It has to be. 

Suddenly, a thick, coarse thumb presses against his entrance, testing at it carelessly. He pauses to shift his hold a little, only to immediately start pushing in and stretching him when he’s satisfied. Izuku’s rambling now, a weak chorus of ‘stop’ and ‘please’ and ‘it hurts’, but Endeavor doesn’t even acknowledge it. When his fingers finally leave, Izuku feels a glint of hope and relief… until he hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper behind him. 

“Please…” Izuku begs, looking back at Endeavor over his shoulder. Trapped on his belly, crushed under the weight of another man, half-naked and vulnerable… He’s never felt this exact kind of terror in his life! 

Endeavor’s only reply is a dismissive grunt, and Izuku feels something much broader pressing against his opening relentlessly. He shakes his head and whimpers, pleading that he can’t do this, that it won’t fit. Of course, Endeavor shoves in anyway. The pain is instantaneous and overwhelming, along with a disturbing sensation of pressure. Izuku can feel him ease out and then force himself in deeper, giving a choked sob when Endeavor finally releases his hand so he can grip Izuku by both of his trembling hips. 

Endeavor rocks his hips in rough, powerful strokes, making Izuku’s stomach turn at the sheer humiliation and the dizzying pain. It’s not long before Izuku’s reduced to tears, holding his injured hand to his chest and just… going limp. He lets Endeavor buck against him ruthlessly, struggling to breathe fast enough to keep up with his heart. Finally, Endeavor groans in relief, and Izuku shudders at the disgusting hot, slick sensation inside him.

With Izuku still trembling and crying underneath him, Endeavor pulls out and casually pulls his slacks back up. He catches his breath for a moment, then stands and steps away from the couch. Izuku curls up in a ball, instinctively trying to shield himself with his arms, even though the damage is already done. 

When he finally speaks, his voice is still low and detached, like he barely had any involvement in this. He doesn’t even turn to look in Izuku’s direction. “...Next time you get my message, I expect you to be here sooner.”


	14. Peter/Marco, mpreg, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there's a bit of age difference here. 
> 
> (Also, apparently Marco's name is supposed to be spelled Marko? Whoops)

They’re embarrassingly late starting this whole stupid project-- Pete’s ready to drop pretty much any day now! Maybe it’s feeling guilty over how late they are that’s got Marco slaving away for the last couple hours. This is obviously some kind of scam: who buys furniture in pieces, anyway? 

...Poor guys in drafty apartments like him do, he guesses.

“Okay, hold on, read the directions again?” Marco can just about feel the eye-rolling going on behind him, and he doesn’t appreciate it. Pete’s been ‘supervising’ all night, making it impossible to think with his smartass commentary.

“You’re telling me a guy who helped organize several multi-million dollar heists can’t put together a crib?” He hears the chair creak dramatically when Pete gets up, immediately turning to block his path. Pete’s a decent guy, he really is, but he’s in such a lousy state now that there’s no way he could be any help. 

“Hey, half the instructions are in Greek or somethin’. Don’t look at me.” Reluctantly handing over the dumb booklet, Marco sits down on the floor with a grunt. Hell, maybe Pete can decipher it. Put that valedictorian brain of his to work. “I don’t see you helpin’, anyway.” 

“It’s… Swedish or Danish. Norwegian? Why did they just give us pictures when other people get a whole novel?” Pete tries to bend to get a better look at the mess of wooden rods and scattered bolts, but Marco stretches his arm out and stops him. (He’s too proud to admit it, but as huge as he is, Pete can’t really get down to ground-level and expect to get back up.) Eventually the little guy settles for hovering near Marco’s shoulder, watching him work the way a foreman or a prison guard eyeballs new meat.

“I dunno. Maybe this one came broken-- yanno, they throw these things around like gorillas in the warehouses.” After working a shipping gig for a while, Marco swore he’d never buy anything expensive without getting a look at it first. If it weren’t for his... complicated legal situation, he’d be tempted to take these scumbags to court. Strip ‘em of every red cent they have, the way smart, white-collar criminals do things. 

“Maybe. I guess we’ll just…” Resting a hand on his stomach, Pete sighs dramatically, like he just found out his dog died or something. He’s gotten real good at milking that pitiful look lately, with his fuzzy cardigan and oversized shirt. Pete’s clearly trying to look as sick and miserable as he possibly can. “Get a different one. You know, instead of the one I wanted.” 

Oh. Oh man. Marco knows Pete’s messing with him, knows he’s throwing a real blow below the belt here. ...But the minute Marco looks the kid in the face, he knows he’s screwed anyway. 

“...I’ll keep workin’ on it. Maybe try and duct tape some of the bottom parts so they’re solid.” Pete strolling up and resting his hand on Marco’s head seems like insult to injury, but Marco doesn’t complain. He’ll do more or less anything the kid bugs him about long enough, and they both know it. “You just sit back down, okay?” 

“Oh, don’t write me off just yet.” Just to seal the deal, really make sure Marco’s gonna be working on this all night, Peter leans down as far as he can and gives him a quick kiss on the temple. “I’ll be over here learning Swedish.” 

Smartass. Marco hates doing pretty much everything he says.


End file.
